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"And were you fired from your job?" another one adds.
I look around and find myself encircled, the paparazzi closing in on me like a pack of hungry wolves. Their camera flashes are bright and disorienting. Rapid-fire questions, each more intrusive than the last, bombard me from all directions.
"Is Hunter Holmes the father of your child?"
"What's your relationship with him? Are you two having sex?" another reporter follows up.
Then a particularly stinging question cuts through the noise.
"Were you having an affair while you were his employee? Is that why you got fired?" They twist the knife deeper into my personal life.
Tears well up in my eyes. I feel like a hunted animal. The world around me spins and my vision blurs. I blink, trying to keep the tears away, but it doesn't work.
The anxiety is too much, the fear too overwhelming. I cover my face with my hands, hoping to shield myself from their prying eyes and the harsh reality of the situation.
Suddenly, a man breaks through the crowd and lunges towards me. He's a head taller than the others, his camera dangling around his neck. His eyes look dark.
Great, he looks like a real asshole.
Normally I'd walk circles around an idiot guy like this, but I'm so weak right now and I hate it.
"Maya, tell us. Tell us the truth. Are you having sex with Hunter Holmes?" he presses, shoving his microphone in my face. His voice is loud and grating.
Before I can respond, he bumps into me. I lose my balance, my feet slipping out from under me. I fall back, landing hard on my butt.
A gasp ripples through the crowd. I am stunned. I look up at the paparazzi, their faces a blur of surprise and more interrogation. They want their content, that's all.
A tall, broad figure pushes through the crowd.
It's Hunter.
His face is full of rage as he charges at the man who knocked me down. Without a second thought, he lands a punch square on the man's face. The man falls back, clutching his nose. Blood trickles down his hand.
The crowd explodes. Cameras flash, capturing every moment of the chaos. Shouts and gasps fill the air as they snap photos of Hunter, his hand still balled into a fist, his face seething with anger. The crowd's attention shifts from me to the unfolding drama.
Hunter's hand is smeared with blood. His knuckles are bruised and swollen already. He locks eyes with me as he rushes towards me.
"Maya, are you okay?" He extends his hand, helping me to my unsteady feet while the other hand shields me from the camera lenses.
Somehow, his glare keeps the paparazzi away as he helps me walk toward my apartment door.
We walk inside and the door closes behind us. Hunter's protective arms wrap around me. When she notices us, my mom gasps, catching sight of the blood on Hunter's hand.
"Get an ice pack, please," Hunter instructs her. His tone is assertive and firm. He leads me towards the couch, helping me sit down. I can feel a panic attack coming on. My breathing accelerates, my chest tightens, and my vision gets hazy.
Hunter takes a seat beside me, his hand on my knee.
“It's okay, Maya. Just breathe." He leans in to kiss my forehead.
His lips are warm.
I missed them.
My mom comes in and puts an ice pack into Hunter's hand. He presses the pack gently against my ankle, the cold sensation helps ground me and my breathing slows.
"I've got you."
He strokes the hair away from my eyes.
